


underneath the altar

by fourthfatality



Category: Shiki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, period horror au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthfatality/pseuds/fourthfatality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[12:42:19 PM] kinkshamer mcmike: didn't u turn that in for a grade in a class u paid $300/credit for</p>
            </blockquote>





	underneath the altar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aunden (fiftymillionstars)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiftymillionstars/gifts).



> this is old. like a year and a half old. posting this was basically an xmas present to yarrow but its past new years now happy fuckin' new years

**xii: hour of the saint and sinner (12:02 AM, Oct 16 th 18XX)**

              The doctor feels his hands steady after a glass of tonic; winter is fast approaching and small towns in the north are more sensitive to these changes than the rest of the country. The barkeep was amiable enough to let him stay beyond closing, and he is grateful for this. He had only meant to pass through the town, and stop by the house of an acquaintance at the behest of his father. But the road leading through the woods and to the village was uneven, and one of the wheels of his carriage was irreparably damaged on his way in, leaving him at the mercy of the unknowable forces governing the particular part of the land he had been halted in.

              “It’s getting awfully late. Are you sure you don’t want a room?” The man behind the counter asks. He’s polished glasses and counted drinks and the bar and tables more times than the doctor thinks is necessary. (But his actions are directly related to his presence, and Dr. O does not want to overstay his welcome.)

              “No. I’m fine. I’m going to be staying with Lord K, up on the hill.” He empties his glass and nudges it towards the barkeep. “I wrote to him a while ago, informing him that I’d be coming.”

              The barkeep whistles. “We haven’t had mail around here for quite a while.” He takes the doctor’s glass and begins to clean it out. “And Lord Abbot K died two months ago.” He taps a finger against his chin, thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, those two things happened at around the same time.” He nods. “Yeah. After he died, we haven’t had any sermons or prayers. It’s a shame. Lord K kept our town together.” He gives the doctor a sympathetic smile. “Anyways, you don’t want to be out there when night falls.”

              Dr. O frowns. “Is his son… I mean, Lord K’s son still alive?”

              “Yes. But I’ll be damned if you can get to him. He locked up his gates as soon as his father died. Poor kid’s distraught.”

              The doctor nods. “Thank you.” He leaves a fistful of folded bills on the table, aware that he is overpaying the man for a cheap drink.

**i: hour in the house of jupiter (1:37 AM, Oct 16 th 18XX)**

              Dr. O can’t see any lights in the manor atop the hill. He raps on the gate lightly, hoping for a response. There is no response at first, which is expected, given the hour. He is about to begin the journey back to town on foot, when a woman with a kerosene lamp approaches the gate.

              “The young Lord M isn’t well enough to receive visitors,” she says. There is a slight smile on her lips, and in the darkness, the doctor thinks that her sclera are completely black. “But, perhaps you can leave a message.”

              “I… I’m a physician,” he says, at a momentary loss for words. “My father was a friend of Lord K’s… my carriage … on the way in…” He manages to say, before rummaging through his satchel for a letter from Lord K to his father. He lets her hold it; the writing itself is streamlined enough to come from any religious leader, but it is the wax seal in the shape of a chrysanthemum, split in half, but still recognizable, that causes a subtle change in expression on her face.

              “Lord M has already retired for the night. Meeting him tomorrow morning will have to suffice.” The gate unlocks and Dr. O follows her inside.

**ii: hour for penance and regret (2:21 PM, Oct 17 th 18XX)**

              “It’s nice to see you again,” Lord M says. He is paler than you remember; his hair taking a silvery color characteristic of old men, rather than the platinum-blonde Dr. O remembers. His features are quite striking—olive eyes and delicate hands.

              He wears a large overcoat, the collar of which he upturns and coughs into at regular intervals.

**iii: hour with an unpronounceable name (3:16 PM, Oct 18 th, 18XX)**

              Although Lord M has pronounced distaste for his father’s religion, he spends hours in the church on his property—although Dr. O does not know if he has the right to call it that, the religion does not resemble anything remotely close to the new, Western religion sweeping through the nation. Nor is it remotely close to the Old Gods they keep.

              Dr. O notices he does not pray. The man spends long hours staring at a vacant seat near the front of the room (presumably where his father would have sat.)

**iv: hour that feels like a day (4:45 PM, Oct 18 th, 18XX)**

              He feels a nagging sense of guilt when he does not wait for Lord M to take him into town, as he was promised. He enjoys the other man’s company more than he thought he would—perhaps, the reason for the misplaced emotion. (Further exacerbated by the lack of an adequate conversation partner, the people in the town are oddly superstitious, and of an age that calls for a distrust of young people.) 

              Dr. O manages to find the town’s blacksmith on his own; a person younger than him of a gender he is not familiar with. They are amiable enough, offering to replace the wheel at no charge.  Because he is a friend of the late Lord K. The doctor does not bother to contradict this, although it is not entirely true.  “It’ll take me a couple of days to make one.” They smile. “But you probably want to leave before then.”

              “Why is that?” He asks, thinking it’s an odd thing to say.

              “The dead are walking among us now.” They say, nonchalantly. “So, it’s probably in your best interest to move along.”

              He frowns. “What do you mean?”

              “We’re being punished for Lord K’s death. “ They say. “When Lord K was alive, we were healthy. But now that he has perished, the dead walk among us and infect us with a strange sickness.”

              He nods and thanks them, despite his inclination to believe otherwise.

**v: hour at the right hand of the gods (5:31 PM, Oct 18 th, 18XX)**

              “Why would they talk about the dead?” He asks Lord M. “Do you know anything about this?”

              Lord M sighs. “Because, that is where they believe the root of their problems comes from.”

              “Why?”

              “We bury our dead here, to honor them, my father said.” He breaks contact with Dr. O’s eyes. “But after their death, he told them that some of them became greedy. If we prayed enough and were charitable towards him, my father could hold them off.”

              Dr. O slams his fist against the table. “And how the hell did he do that?”

              “He’d go up to the mountain on certain nights and talk to the gods there.”

              “And none of you had ever seen him do this?”

              “I have dedicated the rest of my life to undoing what my father has done.”

**vi: hour as a function of time (6:22 AM, Oct 19 th, 18XX)**

              Lord M rises before the call of the first rooster and spends time in the church on his property. On this particular morning, Dr. O follows him. He’s interested in the veracity of the young lord’s claim. There’s something about him that doesn’t sit right with the doctor.

              He thinks his suspicions are confirmed, when he sees him kneeling in front of the alter. He has a handful of chrysanthemums of various shapes and sizes that he leaves in his wake. “He was my father,” he says. “And I am bound to tradition.”

              The doctor is at a loss for words. He thinks he can hear a slight tremor in Lord M’s voice.

              He notices that he is kneeling in front of the altar, and is about to tell him that there is no need to. His offering should suffice, but Lord M begins coughing again, and this time, there is blood that follows.

              Dr. O notices that he’s shaking. He throws him over one of his shoulders and rushes him back to the main house. He’s inclined to believe it’s because the church is substantially colder, and, when tucked in, Lord M will stop lightly convulsing. (And he’s partially right. When he follows through, the man looks a lot healthier than before.)

              “How long has this been happening?” He asks.

              “Not very long,” M says feebly. He looks like a porcelain doll against his white sheets. “Not long at all.”

              “Don’t lie to me.”

              He draws the blanket over himself.

              The doctor sighs. “It’s not bad. If it’s what I think it is, I can treat it.”

              “Others have tried too.”

              “But they’re… they’re not me,” he says, frustrated that there isn’t a more adequate answer.  “I think I can help you fix this village. Let me take some samples.”

**vii: hour of the sailors and sirens (7:15 PM, Oct 19 th, 18XX)**

              Dr. O uses a crude microscope he takes along with him to look at his samples. Lord M plates and prepares them to his specifications—entirely unnecessary, but he insisted on helping, and Dr. O’ll be damned if he doesn’t think that isn’t the least bit endearing. (He isn’t very good at it, but the doctor neglects to mention that.)

              “Have you found anything?”

              “Yeah.” He sighs and leans against his chair. “I think so.”

              “Really?” Lord M looks incredulous, and Dr. O can’t help but smile. Microscopy itself is a relatively new persuasion and will take time to trickle to the masses.

              “Would you like to come look?” He moves his seat away from the table and allows the young lord to peer through the glass.

              “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

              “Hm? Oh. They look like little pills.”

              “I think I found one.”

              “Yeah, you probably did.” The corners of his mouth turn upward in something resembling a smile. “The sample from town has loads of these guys in it. I mean the one I got from you this morning doesn’t, but, that’s probably because I waited a while to test it.”

              “Why would that change anything?”

              “They’re alive. They can die.” He watches Lord M’s face change from a vaguely fascinated expression to one slightly more horrified.

              “That’s inside me?”

              “Well, I have to check tomorrow morning, but yeah.” He laughs a little. “Don’t worry. It’s pretty easy to get rid of. Just have to take a sample tomorrow to confirm.”

**viii: hour in which the doctor writes his record (8:33 PM, Oct 24 th, 18XX)**

              _The patient—Lord M shows symptoms of various diseases, but when his samples are stained, none of them quite align with my predictions. I am genuinely worried about him, although the state of his health has not deteriorated, I fear that, untreated, it may progress… I say this as a professional. For the time being I have given him standard medication corresponding to such symptoms (anemia, hypertension, and hemoptysis.)_

_There is another thing which may, in fact cloud my judgment that I must mention here. I have become involved with him. I mention this for the sake of objectivity. I have not met anyone about whom I have felt this fiercely about since my former wife._

**ix: hour that is sorrow in name, and nature (9:17 PM, Oct 25 th, 18XX)**

              Lord M’s compliant—he lets Dr. O do his physicals with relatively little complaint. But he thinks that “checking up” is evidence enough that the medication is not doing its job. The young lord is perceptive, but not quite ill-mannered enough to say anything to the doctor.

              “That’s odd,” the doctor says, with his hand on Lord M’s palm. His heartbeat is irregular, the systole and diastole don’t quite match up as they’re supposed to. “Can you undo your shirt for me? It might be more accurate with a stethoscope.”

              Lord M nods, and follows his instructions.

              Dr. O sees a bruise in the shape of a handprint on the left side of his chest. It is far too large to be either of theirs.  

**x: hour with two truths and a lie (10:01 PM, Oct 25 th, 18XX)**

              After a long silence, Lord M says “His head is underneath the altar, and his body is below the chrysanthemums.”

              “Does anyone else know?”

              “No.” He says. “But they might, soon enough.”

              “Did anyone help you?”

              “No,” Lord M says again. “I killed my father by myself.”

              “Why?”

              “He killed my mother. And he would have killed me if I hadn’t.”

**xi: hour with venus overhead (11:11 AM, Oct 26 th, 18XX)**

              He’s a doctor, which makes it all the more difficult to accept the prognosis he’s come to; he hasn’t been faced with any manner of occult things thus far in his existence. And worse, still, he’s unsure of how to treat it. He awoke with three gashes on his face, which were, probably a sign that he had overstayed his welcome. Lord M apologizes, despite the lack of the necessity to do so.

              Dr. O kisses him in response.

              “Do you think giving him a proper burial would help?”

              “Well, you have been bringing him flowers every day.”

              “I don’t think that counts,” he says. “I did that more because I wanted to mask the scent of decay.”

              “Will there be enough of him left to bury?”

              “Just the bones.”

**xii: hour in the halls of the ancestors (12:02 PM, Oct 26 th, 18XX) **

              The hole is shallow, but the doctor supposes it will have to do. It is more for the intent than the physical process, and Dr. O hopes this will satiate his lost soul. He stands a distance away from Lord M and his father’s remains—he was here by chance, and as such, does not interfere with the proceedings. He has his head bowed in respect, regardless of his feelings towards the man.

              He expects the young lord to recite a verse from his religious text, but instead he hears an “I loved you once,” before unceremoniously dumping the bones in their resting place.

**i: hour through the looking glass (1:18 AM, Oct 27 th, 18XX)**

              When Lord M looks into the mirror, all he can see is his late father’s grinning face. He reaches for a knife, but his hands find the handle of a drawer, and he pulls hard enough to rip the fixture out, and thrusts it in the general direction of the apparition. The mirror shatters.

              He wakes the doctor up to recount the incident.

**ii: hour spent dancing with the flames (2:34 AM, Oct 27 th, 18XX)**

              “I have an idea,” Lord M says. “But you’re not necessarily going to like it.”

              “No, I’m all ears.”

              Lord M takes the kerosene lamp by Dr. O’s bedside and pushes it over. The floor is wooden, and it will not take the fire long to spread.

              “What the hell? Why did you do that?” He rips the blanket off his bed and attempts to smother it.

              Lord M puts his hands over the doctor’s. “No.”

              He sighs. “M… don’t you think there’s another way to get rid of him…”

              “He’s only ever cared about everything he’s owned.”

              “And where are you supposed to go after—what happens to the town?”

              “Nowhere.”

              “Like hell.”  The doctor says.

 


End file.
